


The Lady is a Killer

by RescueSatellite



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: An AU of my own making, Angst, Becasue I am cruel and this fic is gon be dark, Because I think I'm cool, Blood warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter, Enemies, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending?, I haven't decided yet, I might be mean, In the first chapter no less, LadyKiller AU, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reverse Crush AU, Slow Burn, So Ladybug is a serial killer, Spoiler: I'm not, Two Minor Character Deaths, Two! In fact!, because there's not enough tropes here already, enemies!AU, maybe? - Freeform, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RescueSatellite/pseuds/RescueSatellite
Summary: Marinette Dupain Cheng reeled over the death of her father, but she's plotting revenge. Disguising her identity under the alias of Ladybug, she roams Paris looking for the unfortunate souls who have wronged her.But when she kills Gabriel Agreste, father of Adrien Agreste, world renowned supermodel, he makes plans of his own. As Chat Noir, he intends to make his father's killer pay.As both work in the shadows, they unwittingly uncover the dark secrets at the heart of the city.





	1. Part 1.

**Author's Note:**

> So you know whenever you see and enemies!AU that Chat is always the one that's in the wrong? Like he's always the villain, right? I totally think that Ladybug would be the one to turn and start being Evil first. 
> 
> Anyway, we got some good, old fashioned Angst right up in here. And a lot of pining. This train is going off the tracks. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Gabriel Agreste struggled to open the door to his dark office with an overflowing pile of paperwork in his hands. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he set down one massive stack and swung the door open with his free hand. The automatic timer lights had shut off since he had left his office five hours ago, going to meeting after meeting without a break. 

The stack of papers on the floor decided to go flying as he tried to pick them up again and he groaned quietly, stooping down to collect them. They should have been brought in by Nathalie, but she had taken the day off sick, much to his chagrin. Why he even had an assistant in the first place. 

Today was not the day to have no assistant. A shipment had not come in last night, slowing down the production and distribution of a new line of products. His business had been booming in the past months, but recently, stocks were down, making him very uneasy. 

It was just his luck that there was a vigilante running around and stalling his work. Without the second source of income, his business would be ruined, but this person, whoever he was, was getting in the way far too often for comfort. Already, three crucial members of the business had been taken out. Not that Gabriel cared much, as they were replaced almost immediately, but the organization was spooked. 

In three months, eight lives had been taken by this vigilante, eight members of a carefully balanced plan that had to be executed to perfection every month if it was going to work at all. Late shipments and lost security was not an option. The very life of the business was in jeopardy. Emergency steps had to be taken, and soon, if they were going to stay afloat. 

And Gabriel needed them to stay afloat. His reputation, his life, his _son’s_ life, hung in the balance. 

He went to rub his temple, causing another stack of papers to fall from his hands. He grunted and went to call for Nathalie, only to remember that she wasn’t there. 

She managed his work from home that day, calling him whenever he had a meeting coming up, but he mostly had to manage on his own. Phone calls were taken by a secretary down the hall, but apparently he had a hard time transferring them correctly, and some extremely important calls had been dropped. 

The secretary had been fired, obviously. 

The halls were quiet as Gabriel walked into his office, finally having picked up the last paper that had been strewn across the floor. The sensor lights flipped on as he passed the strip that caught his movement, but he was too preoccupied with the papers in his arms to pay attention to the goings on in the room. It was only when he heard a voice that he looked up. 

“Good evening, Mr. Agreste.”

He startled, a paper or two falling from his fingers. He didn’t bother to pick them up. 

A woman, dressed completely in black, almost disappeared into the large black leather chair that sat behind his desk. He barely saw her save for the flash of red streaked across her lips, and the red fabric that secured her mask to her face, obscuring her identity from him. As she came more into focus and light caught her edges, he picked up more detail. 

Her cropped hair flung out at all sides, mussed and crazy looking, like she just stepped out from a tornado. Blue eyes stared out from a black mask, piercing and volatile, something like anger stirring behind them. Her legs crossed over one another, and she swung herself slowly from side to side, apparently extremely at ease in the situation. Her arms crossed over her chest, and a smile played over her lips. 

She scared him. 

“Who are you?”

She let out a light chuckle, a sound that would have been charming if it weren’t for the circumstance. “That’s always the first question they seem to ask. But I assure you, you know who I am. I’ve been causing quite a stir in your… side business.” She continued spinning a quarter turn to the left, pausing, and swinging back the other way. The effect was hypnotizing, and her eyes never left his. A red smile drew him in. 

He stepped out of his paralyzed state of fear, masking himself with the stern, disappointed business man that had intimidated and terrified so many others before her. It was a mask he slipped on comfortably, more easily sometimes than it should have been. 

With three steps, he had made it to the bank of chairs in front of his desk, facing her and the windows behind that overlooked the city of Paris. The Tower was somewhere to the left, but he didn’t bother to glance there now. Papers almost flew out across the floor again as he set them on his desk, never taking his eyes from her. 

“What do you want?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. “Surprisingly, that’s not a question I get too often. Usually people ask ‘Why are you here?’, ‘What are you going to do to me?’, or they just start pleading for their life. They know when a masked person is waiting for them in their room, nothing good can come from it.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, crossing her arms on the desk and staring deeply into his eyes. He tried to stare back, but his gaze faltered from time to time. “You’re smart, though. You know that you may hold a bargaining chip over my head. After all, you are one of the most powerful men in Paris. You hold the whole of the city in the palm of your hand, though few know it.” 

A pause. 

“What do I want?”

“Yes. What do you want?” He was becoming aggravated now. It was most likely what she wanted, to get him angry, loose lipped, and talking. But he wasn’t about to play into her game. Too much was at risk. 

“I want,” she said, the smile disappearing from her face altogether. She stood and leaned forward, looking up to him as he postured in front of her. He was much taller than she was, perhaps six inches, but she held all the power. She was in control. And they both knew it. This wasn’t a situation Gabriel was used to being in. “Answers.”

He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. The corner of her lips flicked upwards in a smirk. Answers. For what? He could answer questions. He had nothing to hide. She knew the goings on behind the curtains, she knew what he was up to in the shadows. There was nothing he could say that she didn’t already know. 

But there might be a recording device. Anything incriminating he could say could be leaked to the press. He should keep his mouth shut, refuse to say anything to her. At the same time, nothing had been leaked to the press so far. No tips had been made to the authorities. His business had men all over the police department. If someone knew something, he would have known as well. It was the only reason he knew about the majority of the mushers in the first place. 

So if she wasn’t going to leak anything to the press or the police, what harm would it do to tell her? She might take his answers and leave if he cooperated. It was a naive belief, but he didn’t see another way out. There was no one else on the floor. Security sweeps didn’t start for another hour, and there was no emergency buttons on the floor so he could sound an alarm. He looked to his phone on the desk, but the cable had been cut. 

If he called the police from his cell, how fast would they get there? Could he even call, or would she notice? Too many questions floated through his head, with not enough time to answer all of them. 

“Well?” she asked, her eyebrows raising behind the mask. He thought about ripping the mask from her face. Exposing her, taking a picture maybe. But his death would come swiftly if he tried anything.

“What do you want to know?”  
_____

Adrien Agreste was woken with the news of his father’s death. The shock of the news carried through all day, all week. The work that came with the death was even more numbing than the information that had stilled him to his core. His father was dead, and there was a company to run. A funeral to be planned and executed. He would have to take over day to day operations, something his father had wanted him to do since he was a child, but a task he never wanted. Now Adrien would have to set up a press conference, announce the development, reassure the shareholders and the employees that there would be no change in the way the company was run. Things would have to keep moving. 

Adrien had to keep moving. 

The police suspected that the recent killings around the city was somehow tied to Gabriel Agreste, though they refused to tell Adrien why or how. That was information that was part of an ongoing investigation, and their suspicions could not be confirmed in any way, lest the public hear about them. 

That didn’t stop Adrien from trying. He had spent more money on bribes in one week than he had on clothing in the past year. 

No new information came to light for him. It was beyond infuriating. His father was dead, and no one wanted to tell him why. 

He skipped right past the denial stage and rooted himself in anger. It boiled deeply within him, but he only sometimes let it come up, releasing a little at a time. When he drank at night, alone in his penthouse apartment that the company paid for with their billions, he smashed bottles and screamed at no one. The maids that came every day to clean the penthouse had to pick up glass and wipe cheap liquor off of the walls. Not that he cared. Anger was numbing, as was alcohol, and he much preferred to settle into the feelinglessness of grief. 

The funeral was set up for that afternoon. Adrien had spent the night drinking a bottle of rum he had found in the back of his cupboard. It was tasteless as it slid down his throat, obscuring his vision, and calming the writhing ball of anger at the pit of his stomach. 

Nathalie woke him up, shaking him by the shoulder until he poked his head out from beneath his the sheets. His legs were tangled in the silk, his hair mussed and his eyes bloodshot. He barely got any sleep.

“Adrien.” Nathalie’s voice cracked. She stood over him with her ever-present professional demeanor in place, never letting it slip. Adrien knew it must have been hard for her to work, especially with Adrien, who looked so much like his father, but she kept at it. “It’s time to get up. You must shower and get ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Adrien reached for the half-empty bottle on his bed, but she pulled it from his reach. 

“Adrien. Now.” Her stern voice drew him from under the soft covers of his bed. 

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, taking in the disarray of the room. The maids had not made it in since last night, a fact that he smelled before anything else. The entire room smelled as if it were soaked in alcohol, and so did he. He knew it would be cleaned up by the time he made it home, so he didn’t worry about it. 

After a long shower, interrupted once again by Nathalie, who was getting on his nerves, he dressed and made it down to the car. Gorilla waited for him at the curb, and he hopped in, sitting next to Nathalie. Her tablet was in her lap, her pen ready to take notes, cross of things from the to-do list, and manage every aspect of his life. 

Adrien knew he shouldn't resent her. She was doing her job, and the fact that she was keeping it together so well was a testament to her professionalism. But it didn’t stop his irritation at her lack of emotion. 

“We are going to stop but the office and talk to the employees. They have yet to be reassured that their jobs are safe. The Board thought it would be in their best interest to have you do it, as the new CEO. Here are your cards.” She handed him a stack of three or four notecards, each with only a couple of lines for a short speech. He was glad it would be brief. He didn’t feel much like giving others encouragement. 

“After you speak with them, we are going immediately to a Board meeting. It will be a quick transition. Really, the speech will be more of a drive-by. The Board are all there already, and we’re running late. You will be instated as the CEO, and you need to show the Board that you are competent. Can you do that, Adrien?” She looked very seriously at him, but found him staring out the window, watching the buildings and people pass. “Adrien?”

Of course he could do it. His father had practically bred him to be able to take over the company once he stepped down. Though nobody thought that the ‘stepping down’ would entail a violent death. Adrien nodded sternly to Nathalie. Realizing this was all she was going to get, she nodded back and went to her list again. 

“You dazzle the Board and then we go to the funeral.” The word came out as more of a whisper. She cleared her throat. “They will be waiting for you to start the ceremony, but the news will be there, so it won’t look good to be late. We really must hurry.” She called out to Gorilla, and they felt the car kick up the speed. “I have your speech ready for the funeral.” 

He was handed another stack of notecards that he promptly shoved into his pocket. There was no way he was going to be looking at those before an important meeting. Despite his apparent apathy over the past couple of days, he cared deeply about the company that his father had built from the ground up. Gabriel built it for his son, and Adrien was going to respect and protect it with everything he had. 

Tired fingers wiped away the crud from his sleepy eyes and he gave a tremendous yawn. He really hadn't gotten the sleep he needed for a successful day, but that was his fault, and not something he was going to be putting on Nathalie. She had enough to deal with. 

“After the funeral, we need to get your status as CEO sorted. You inherited fifty one percent of the company from your father, securing your status as majority shareholder, and you have final say over every action of the company. However, we need to finalize your father’s will before your status is concrete. As far as the Board is concerned, you don't have any say until the lawyers confirm your inheritance. The meeting with them today is a formality at best.” 

Adrien was used to those. 

“We have a meeting with the lawyers at three. All you need to do is sign a verification form, and the company belongs to you.” Nathalie looked out the window. 

They had just pulled up at the entrance of Agreste Headquarters, and the paparazzi were going crazy outside. Before the car door even opened, the lights of the cameras were flashing through the windows, trying to get pictures of the grieving son of the late Gabriel Agreste. 

“Poachers,” Adrien muttered as Nathalie slipped out the door and Adrien slid across his seat to follow. As the car door closed behind him, Gorilla sped away in the car, and a mass of cameras and screaming reporters filled the void that was left behind. 

Questions and lights assaulted Adrien from all sides. He was used to this amount of attention, but not this kind. The reporters seemed rabid today. Perhaps because Adrien had not been seen in three days, and the news outlets got antsy without a story, or maybe because they were excited someone so prominent was dead. Anything to fill out a headline. ‘Agreste Assassinated,’ one particularly gauche headline testified. 

Adrien felt like punching them all in the face, but he kept his fists clenched at his sides and his head down until they made it into the building. His heart was racing from the short walk. He tore sunglasses from his eyes and squinted at the harsh lights of the lobby. He was going to have a massive hangover in little less than an hour. The Board meeting had better be quick. 

The ride up the private elevators was as quick as it ever was, but it felt like an eternity. Adrien pulled out the notecards from his pockets and began going over the speech he was expected to give. His eyes scanned quickly, but there wouldn’t be enough time in any day to prepare him for the onslaught of sad eyes that greeted him when he stepped from the elevator doors. 

Nathalie sighed. “Here we go.”   
_____

Marinette watched as Adrien Agreste, accompanied by his father’s assistant - she thought her name was Nathalie? she couldn't be sure - walked from the private elevator at the back of the large room. 

The gentle whir of the elevator called everyone to attention, a wave of silence falling over the office. Waiting with bated breath, all eyes were on the elevator, watching the displayed floor number make its way from the lobby all the way to 25. Gilt doors shuddered and paused as the lift made it to the top floor of the building. Tension in the room was palpable, and Marinette couldn't help but squirm. 

No one she had ever killed before had such a personal impact on her. The first couple she barely remembered, so encased in rage as she was after her father’s death, but after her fourth kill, she couldn’t help but feel… guilt. 

But the eight people she had ended before Gabriel Agreste never felt as heavy as this one. Those around her whispered to each other, barely able to contain themselves. Some were soaked with excitement over the drama. One or two tried to hide their glee over the death of their tormenter. Others a potent stench of faux sadness they bathed in like perfume. It wouldn't do them any good, but they did anything to reassure those around them that they were good people. If they cried just enough, maybe they would even get a little attention. Some sympathy maybe. 

Marinette saw with stunning clarity the effects of her work as Ladybug. The world would be a better place without Gabriel Agreste. 

Adrien looked terrible as he stepped out from the elevator. He had obviously just showered, as the roots of his hair were glistening and dark with water. Eyes bloodshot, he was clearly hungover. 

Not that she blamed him. She was drunk off her ass for a good week after her dad. 

The usual brightness and color in his cheeks had faded into gaunt hollows, grey skin stretched over his skull. His ever-shiny and perfectly styled hair was in a state of unusual disarray, his clothes rumpled, and she could almost be sure that his shoes were mismatched. They were both black, but one had a small decal on the heel that the other didn’t. It wasn’t something that someone who wasn’t a designer would catch. But she looked out for these things. 

His assistant walked behind him, pointing out where he should stand to give the speech he was expected to give. She whispered in his ear, the only sound in the constricting silence of the room. Adrien’s shaking hands took out a stack of notecards from his pocket, and he looked up at the room for the first time. 

He hid a cringe, but not very well. Every eye was on him, except Marinette’s. She was examining the others in the room. Who was still talking to who, who had escaped to the bathroom to avoid the potentially painful speech, those who poured on the crying just a little thicker to impress the new CEO. It was fascinating to see who took the opportunity to be cruel. 

This wasn’t their time. It was his. She intended to let him have it.

Her eyes stayed away from his as he began speaking. She barely listened, just enough to correlate the audience’s reactions to his words. They were all amazing performers, honestly. 

“Good morning, everyone. I have to make this quick, as the Board is expecting me.”

Polite, understanding nods. Take all the time you need, Adrien. We understand. We’re here for you. 

“But I assure you, despite the incident of Friday, all of your jobs are secure.”

Sighs of relief. As if any of them didn’t already have jobs lined up just in case. They were all vultures, picking at any opportunities they could to ensure their prosperity. 

It didn’t seem difficult for Adrien to push out the words about his father’s death. It was obvious he wasn’t all there. It was impossible for her to speak in coherent sentences for a long while after her ‘incident.’ But then, she wasn’t raised in the spotlight. How many times did he have to push his emotions down because his father told him he had a reputation to uphold? 

Now that he was gone, was a weight lifted? She eyed Adrien for the first time, and saw his shoulders stooped. He was always on edge whenever he came into the office previously. She would watch him with morbid curiosity, wondering if he knew about the illicit operations running through his father’s company. Apparently not, she found out after speaking to Gabriel. 

She hoped he would have some brevity sometime soon. No one deserved to suffer as he did. But there was work to be done. 

“I thank you all for your dedication to this company.” He stopped for a second, and Marinette’s interest piqued. Words were rolling around in his mouth, and he didn’t quite know what to say. He read and reread the cards in his hands, but it didn’t look like he was understanding what they said. “This -” he took a deep breath. “My company.

“Thank you.”

He glanced upwards, his eyes scanning the room one last time before he darted for an exit. Marinette watched him, and felt with a startling buzz his eyes meeting hers.

Their gazes raked across one another’s, and she feared for a moment that he may know who she was. Who Ladybug was. That they were one and the same. But she came back to reality when she reminded herself that no one knew who Ladybug was. As far as anyone was concerned, a male vigilante was running around the streets of Paris killing at random. 

He must think that the killer had chosen his father at random. When really, the pattern was anything but random. Marinette had been planning the assassination for weeks. 

She felt, in the brief second that their eyes met, an emptiness that could only be described as loss. There was something that was supposed to be there that wasn’t anymore. A deep well of emotions that she had been suppressing for a long time began to seep into her. She felt his grief, and her own, again. 

When at last he turned away, being escorted to an important meeting and then the funeral of his father, she couldn’t help but clutch a hand to her chest and wipe away a stray tear. 

Luckily, in an office so recently struck by turmoil, the budding emotions of a confused assistant didn’t strike anyone as unusual. She sat at her desk and buried herself in a mountain of work as an ocean raged around her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Sexual Tension™

“Girl, are you awake?” 

Marinette held the phone away from her ear to prevent her friend’s excited loudness from giving her a headache. She was wrapped up in her blankets like a cocoon, trying to fend off the draft of her tiny one bedroom apartment, her phone pressed to her ear. It was still plugged into the wall, so she had to contort her body to listen. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Very frank, Alya was. Marinette smiled tiredly. 

Her clock told her it was barely seven, and that her alarm hadn’t gone off, like usual. She was lucky that Alya had called her when she did. She would have been late. Again. 

“I have news!” 

Alya Cesaire, best friend of Marinette Dupain Cheng, head reporter of the Paris Press, and a ravenous fact finder almost always had news. If she wasn’t following a new story, she was reading a report from China or America, always absorbing new information. Currently, her job was to find as much information on the recent killing of Gabriel Agreste as possible. 

There was little news to be found. Marinette had been extremely careful, planning for weeks. She knew when she found out Gabriel’s assistant, Nathalie was sick that it would be the perfect time to strike. She had the passkey, the codes, the route into the office that would avoid any cameras, and the Agreste schedule. Gabriel would have been alone in the top floor of the business building. Building security wouldn’t start patrols for another hour after he was dead. No cameras caught her face, or any part of her. There was no one to see her. No one to stop her. 

Marinette almost felt bad for Alya that there was so little to go on. Maybe she should have left some kind of clue. The world still believed it was a guy who had killed Agreste. No one suspected a small half-Chinese girl in a black hoodie and ballet shoes. 

“I’ve been looking into some of the business of the Agreste corporation, and I’ve found something that’s more fishy than it should be. I don’t really have anything concrete yet, but it looks like there’s a flow of money into the business that shouldn’t be there.” Alya took a deep breath, likely reading over her notes before launching into a rant of her theatrics and suspicions. 

“I’m pretty sure that the company has been laundering money. It would only make sense. The stocks has been down since the beginning of the year, and there has been little to no growth in the past six months. What else would a business owner do to protect his company that get a little side business, you know what I mean?” Marinette could practically see Alya’s eyebrow wiggle behind thick-framed glasses. 

She sat up in bed and faced the cold of the morning, shivering as she stepped across the wooden floors and began pulling off her clothes to get in the shower. 

A large bruise blossomed across her rib cage, green and purple and yellow swirling from her right hip bone to her sternum. A recent fact finding mission of her own had ended in her running away from a horde of security guards and her falling on a concrete bench twenty feet below a ledge she had been forced to jump from. At least she hadn’t been shot. She had yet to, but she had been told that it’s no fun. 

Her phone stayed pressed to her ear as Alya explained what she knew, including a distribution center she thought might be the laundering business. The records Alya managed to get her hands on showed an influx in exports from one particular center, but Alya wanted to find out for herself whether or not the numbers matched. 

“What I don’t understand is what they could be doing to get that extra cash. Almost two hundred thousand euro is unaccounted for. Maybe tax fraud?” Alya gasped dramatically. “Drugs?” Marinette laughed despite how dog tired she was. She wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next hundred years, and let her body heal from the damage she had done to it the night before, but she had work to get done. 

Marinette knew full well that the Agreste company got up to behind the scenes, but she wasn’t about to let Alya in the loop. For one, she had no reason to know what she knew. For another, if Alya had even a whiff of the truth, she would not stop until the entire story was uncovered. It would mean her certain death, and Marinette would not have another innocent life on her hands. 

For now, Alya had the usual amount of vivacity for this story. It didn’t seem to Marinette that she would put herself in any danger at this point, but all could quickly change. She promised herself to keep a careful eye on her friend and any shenanigans she get herself into. 

“It’s most definitely drugs.”

“Right?!” 

“I have to go. I have work in an hour.” Marinette turned on her shower for effect, letting the cold pipes heat up while she finished her conversation. 

“Do you wanna go out on Friday? Work is having a little party and I hate like everyone here. I would love to have someone tolerable to talk to.” 

Marinette sighed. “I’ll have to see. Work has been crazy lately. I might have to work late on Friday.” A blatant lie. But Alya was under the impression that Marinette put in sixty hour weeks instead of the crime fighting vigilante job she had taken on. 

“Damn, girl. You are whipped.” 

“Heh. Yeah, you know it.” Marinette looked at her bruise in the mirror and poked it a couple of times. She was too physically exhausted to put any effort into her expression. “I gotta go.”

“Alright, see you, girl. Find out about Friday.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

“Love you.”

Marinette hung up and tossed her phone onto the counter. Her bruise seemed to be pulsing beneath her skin like a living thing. She laid a hand on it and felt the heat radiating up from her tired skin. Stepping into the shower, the water was ice cold. She let the frigid pricks of ice wash over her, waking up her senses, cooling the fire that nagged at her side. 

By the time her alarm sounded, telling her to get out of the shower and get ready - or, more often, to get out of bed - the water was still freezing. She shut it off and stepped out. The room felt warm compared to the ice bath she had just been subjected to. 

A quick face of foundation, eye liner, mascara, and lip stain had her ready for work. She pinched her cheeks as a replacement for the blush she didn’t have the money to buy and brushed out her short hair to let it air dry. Her closet was an exploded mess, but she managed to pick out a proper outfit for work. 

Working at a fashion corporation meant almost anything was acceptable for the workplace, as long as you looked damn good wearing it. At one point, her manager said the shorter the skirt, the better, with a wink to the newest intern. 

She pulled on a tight black, knee length dress with a draping, open back and tied her hair into a tight bun. A golden chain fastened around her neck fell into the deep crevice left by the dress, and matching earrings dangled around her exposed neck. She pulled on kitten heels with golden accents and covered her shoulders with her thickest jacket. 

Somehow, she was always cold, no matter the temperature. In the winter, she had to stuff her pockets with warming packs to prevent herself from getting frostbite. Her nose constantly ran, especially in the early mornings like this, and she never got over her dire craving for a car of her own. The commuter train was filled like always, and she hid behind a thick crop of fringe that lined her face. She held tight to her purse, wrapped her jacket tightly around her, and wished that the trip would be over soon so she could get into her warm office and sit down. 

Marinette was the second newest intern, after a girl who had been hired the week before as an assistant to the designer who was soon to go on maternity leave. As such, she was still stuck with some of the more mundane jobs, such as getting coffee and breakfast pastries for the office every morning. 

It was just her luck that her mother owned one of the best bakeries in Paris. Before work, Marinette dropped by the bakery and picked up several boxes worth of croissants, hand pies, and other treats for those in her office. She was going to be late, so the coffee would not be made in time for some of the early risers, but they would just have to deal for a moment. 

The tingling of the entrance bell signaled Marinette’s arrival. Her mother’s eyes lit up as she took in her daughter at the doorway of her bakery and home. 

“Mon chou,” her mother called from behind the counter. Sabine has always been a small woman, but with the amount of work and stress she was under since Tom’s death, she had positively withered. 

“Maman,” They hugged despite the line of customers who were waiting to be served, and stayed entangled for a good ten seconds. Marinette gritted her teeth against the pain brought to her bruise by the hug. Despite the fact that they saw each other every day, she still craved the comfort her mother brought. She was always warm and smelled of vanilla. 

“How have you been, my darling?” Sabine left the hug first and went to serve the patrons in line. After years of having a child and running a bakery practically on her own, she had gotten good at multitasking. 

“I’m always good, maman, you know that.” 

“Work is treating you well?”

“No better than I’m treating them,” she said as she grabbed the prepared bags of pastries her mother already had ready for her. With a kiss on her mother’s cheek, she was about to say goodbye, their usual morning conversation depleted, but there was different news that day. 

“And the Agreste boy? How has he been doing? Poor child, it must be hard for him to work.” 

Marinette stopped in her tracks. It was just like her mother to care for those who she didn’t know. “I wouldn't know. He’s not big on sharing. He’s the new CEO, after all. He must put on a brave face for the company.”

“Yes, yes. But there is more than just the CEO, mon chou. There is the man behind the mask.” Sabine looked to her knowingly. 

Marinette used to have a crush on the model Adrien Agreste. World renown, beautiful, golden haired and green eyed, he was the vision of perfection and teenage daydreams. Her job opportunity came on the coattails of that schoolgirl crush, and she found herself no longer infatuated with the epitome of beauty when she worked under his father. She didn’t know him well, but any boy who lived with that as a father would not turn into anything she desired. 

She always admired Gabriel Agreste’s work. He's fashion designs were extraordinary, legendary in the field. But his business practices, his side projects, his cruelty and ruthlessness in the workplace made it an easy decision to take him out of the picture. It would be easy to deny that personal factors didn’t play into her decision, but in this case, she was fine with saying that he deserved it. 

How similar was the son to the father? Did the apple really fall that far?

No longer did Marinette fantasize about Adrien. She had taken down the posters from her wall a long time ago. 

“I suppose there is. Would you like me to send him your regards?” She meant it as a joke, something her mother knew very well, but it was just the opening that she was looking for. 

“Actually, I have a favor to ask of you.” She grabbed a small tin from beneath the counter, wrapped in a simple silver ribbon and a note made of the bakery stationery. The logo was written in beautiful black script on pearl white paper, a logo that Marinette had spent weeks perfecting. “Why don’t you give this to him, as a gift from the bakery.”

“Maman, really?” 

“Yes, yes. Take it, you'll be late. Don’t argue, you know you’ll lose.” They shared smiles between them. She was right, there was no way she was going to win this argument. 

“Alright, I’m going.” She gave her mother a quick kiss on the forehead and grabbed the tin from her hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Let me know if he likes them.”

“You know he will,” Marinette laughed and let the tinkling of the bell mark her exit from the bakery. 

Work was very close to the bakery. The bulk of her morning was spent getting from her apartment on the edges of town to the center, where large buildings represented the egos of the men who built them. Already late, her prolonged conversation with her mother made her add a little skip to her step, so she was breathing rather hard when she stepped into the elevator of her building and swiped her passkey to get to the second to top floor. 

The view from up there was beautiful. Light flooded in from the walls of windows all around them. The office was huge and open, with one chunk in the corner portioned off for the conference room where only the most important people were allowed. 

Marinette scurried into the kitchens, trying to keep from being noticed by her boss, who probably already knew she was late. 

Her arms were completely dead from the weight of the pastries she carried, but she forced herself to begin making the coffee. As she turned to start her mundane task, she ran straight into a solid mass of a body. 

A full head taller than her, Adrien Agreste looked as good under fluorescent lights as he did in front of the camera. With the dark circles under his eyes, the mussed hair, and wrinkled shirt, he looked like the resident bad boy. However, his pants had been firmly pressed, his shoes freshly polished, and he had a sheen of moisturizer across his face that had yet to soak in. It was clear from looking at him that he was wealthy. 

“Excuse me,” Marinette muttered, immediately ducking her head so her eyes were covered by her fringe. She stepped around him, avoiding eye contact, and went for the coffee pot. 

Which was half full. The cabinet of mugs was already opened and several had been removed. Marinette muttered a curse to herself and turned around, looking at the model who was smiling mockingly down at her over the lip of his own coffee mug.

“I assume you were supposed to make the coffee?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know how. Their eyes had locked together like tractor beams and she couldn’t turn away. 

“I was wondering why it wasn’t made. It’s usually ready when I come up. I thought I was just early.” He chuckled to himself and took another sip. Marinette felt her face heating. 

“I was… getting pastries.” She didn’t like talking to him. It felt like he was making fun of her. She was late and disheveled, and though he looked far worse than her, he had the confidence to pull it off. She blushed red and marched to where she had left the boxes. Methodical movements carried the pastries from the box to the tray where they were served every morning. She wiped off old crumbs from the day before and reminded herself that she should probably wash it when it was emptied. 

A long, warm arm reached around her and picked a croissant out from the stack of treats she was setting up, retracting behind her. She could feel the heat radiation off of her body as he stood behind her. All of her senses stood at attention, and she swore she could hear the movement of his clothes as he took a step away. 

When she had completed setting out the goods and stowed the rest away for later, she turned and settled back on the counter. Adrien had taken up the space at the opposite end of the room, lazing by the coffee machine. They made eye contact again. 

A group of three chatting women entered the room, heightening the tension between the two of them. The women laughed together as they went to get their mugs from the cabinet and Adrien moved to accommodate their need for coffee. Their eyes broke contact for just a moment and Marinette took the opportunity to breathe. 

She took the opportunity to break away with the group as they exited the kitchen, but she has shoved to the back of the line. She was stranded behind, pulled back by another word from Adrien. 

“These are good.” He gestured to the pastry in his hand. With one last bite, he finished the croissant and dusted the crumbs off of his fingers. 

“They’re from my family’s bakery.” She didn’t know why she offered the information, but there it was. 

“I may have to stop by sometime.” 

“My mother would love that.” Marinette took a deep breathe and thought of her mother, the little promise she had made. No matter how uncomfortable the situation, she should probably keep her word. She stepped back into the room, her kitten heels clacking on the kitchen tiles, and grabbed the tin from where she had stored it. 

The kitchen was too large for its own good. It took far too long for her to cross the room and hand the box over. “She wanted to give you these, and her condolences.” 

The smug grin was wiped off of Adrien’s face, and she felt him relapse back into grief. It felt cruel for a moment, but she needed an escape route. He took the box with a shaking hand, and Marinette felt bad for him for a moment. He looked like a little boy. He didn’t know about his father’s goings on. But he was out to inherit the business, and all that entailed. 

For all she knew, he could be her next target.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya becomes curious about the mysterious killings around Paris.

The title of Head Journalist was a joke. She was still stuck with the same restrictions and stupid deadlines as everyone else. Her boss told her that if she didn’t get a story on the Gabriel Agreste murder in the next two days, she would be taken off the story. 

“Sir, I told you that I have a story in the works, but you and I both know that genuine reporting doesn’t take days. It takes weeks. Months. I need more time.”

“We don’t have time, Cesaire. We need stories now.” He massaged the bridge of his nose and glanced up at her. “We’re running behind, running low on money. We need to get the people interested again, or we’re going nowhere fast.”

“I have a story that will do that-”

“The Agreste drug ring?” He scoffed. “Please. Do you really think that someone with that much gel in his hair would ever get involved with petty criminals?”

“Petty criminals? We’re talking hundreds of thousands of euro here. Maybe millions! This story could put us back on the top, Diaz.”

“No, Cesaire. I’m putting my foot down.” Diaz put his foot down relatively frequently. The expression came to mean almost nothing to her. “We need a solid story about the Agreste murder and we need it yesterday. I had Cameron have a go at it, and it turned out disastrously. Give me that, and give me an exposè on that Bourgeois affair. You can work on your little side piece in your own time, but for right now, we need to keep the people interested.” Alya sighed and resigned herself to her fate. There was no getting past the editor. “Understood.”

“Yes, sir,” Alya said, trying to go easy on the sarcasm. It was hard for her, but Diaz let it go. She stood and exited the office. The space beyond the editor’s office was always filled with ringing phones and shouting voices. She was convinced once that she was in a stock room she woke up from a nap at her desk. In reality, it was after the breaking of the story of a surprise winner at a horse race. The entire office had money on the race, and only one of them won. 

Soon after, the winner of the office pool quit and is now living somewhere in Fiji. 

Alya sat at her desk and listened for a minute to the chaos of the room around her. She was usually good at multitasking, but for now, she was in a mood, and she wanted to get to work. 

From her desk drawer she pulled noise cancelling headphones and secured them to her ears, listening to the shouting and ringing of the room turn to silence. She selected a track on her phone that was just white noise, and set it to repeat itself. 

The Bourgeois affair was a laugh of a story. How many times had Anthony Bourgeois slept with other men and women, and how many times had it made the news? At this point, going a month without another scandal would be more of a news story than finding him in bed with another prostitute or married woman. What else did you expect of a powerful mayor?

Within the hour, she had the exposè sent to Diaz, and she was on to another story. Gabriel Agreste was murdered, no one knows who killed him, nobody knows how the killer got into the building, and no one knows how he got out without being seen. All that was clear at the moment was that the CEO of a major Parisian company was dead and that the fashion industry of the city would be plunged into economic turmoil. 

Adrien Agreste was appointed the new CEO of the company, much to the chagrin of the Board. One of the shareholders, Moretti had twenty six percent of the stocks, and he was planning on taking over the company when Gabriel died. However, all of the shares held by Gabriel went straight to his son, rather than the partner that Agreste had been working with for the past twenty three years. 

Alya looked into him and wrote a story pointing to him as the murderer. 

It wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing, but Diaz told her to write a piece about the Agreste murder, something believable. This was totally plausible. 

Over the next three hours, Alya wrote five different pieces pointing to different people as the supposed murderers of Agreste, and she even wrote a puff piece just to appease Diaz. It was all facts, nothing of interest, nothing that the public hadn’t heard before, but she knew when she sent it that it would be the story that ran. 

She huffed out a big breath and ran her fingers through her hair. A long strand fell loose and she thought about taking her scissors and just cutting it all off, but she restrained herself. She soaked in the white noise coming from her headphones and relaxed her shoulders. 

With a glance to the door of the editing office, Alya began researching. She knew that the Agreste company was getting into some shady happenings, but she needed to prove it. 

She made a phone call. 

“Lahiffe here.”

“Nino, I need you to check something.”

She heard the long suffering sigh from the other side of the phone even though she knew he held it away from his face. She rolled her eyes at his drama. “What do you want to know?”

“Have there been any other murders like the Agreste killing?” 

“We’ve been over this. Nobody else has been hit like he has.”

“No, listen. I’m not talking like another Big Bad getting killed. I’m talking little stuff. Have there been any reports of killings that don’t have any suspects? Maybe tied to drug rings, or, I don’t know, other shady stuff?” She kept her attention half drawn to the office of her editor, hoping that he wouldn't overhear her researching. 

“Alya, this is Paris, there’s lot of shady stuff. If there isn’t a murder every day, something is wrong.”

“You think I don’t know that. Just try for me, babe. I’ll get you those pastries you like,” she told him in a sing song voice. She knew he could not resist the pastries. 

He took a long moment to hesitate and then sighed. “God I hate you. What do you want me to search for?”

She smiled and listened as he began typing. “Any murders within the past…” she checked her notes, “three months that don’t have an arrest or a suspect. Cold cases, unexplained deaths. Oh, and anything where the victim was asphyxiated. Like the Agreste killing.” Alya scrolled through the photos that Nino had emailed her from the scene of the murder. 

Gabriel sat slumped in his fancy leather office chair, his hands set delicately on the arms rests. His arms had obviously been posed after the fact, almost like the killer were trying to put him back into his signature stance. His eyes were open and his mouth hung agape. His hair was as immaculate as ever. 

In the rest of the room, nothing was out of place. There was barely anything on the desk, nothing was askew. When the assistant was called in for questioning, she said that there was nothing missing in the office. Down to the spare cufflinks in his desk drawer. It obviously wasn’t a robbery. This was planned and deliberate.

“Alright, there’s about thirty cases to look at. Do you want them all?” 

“Yeah, send them all over.” She got the emails almost immediately. “Oh, and do you have the phone number to the Agreste assistant? Umm…” she looked to her notes. “Nathalie Sangour?” 

“Goodbye, Alya.” 

“Thanks, Nino. I owe you one.”

“You owe me way more than one.”

“Sure.” She hung up and tore the headphones from her ears. Quickly, she collected her things and shoved most of her possessions into her purse. On her way out the door, she slung her coat over her arm, and took the stairs down the five flights to the floor level. The elevator was too slow for her. By taking the stairs, she saved about twenty seconds. 

On her way across town, she studied each of the case files. Gruesome pictures and details were tuned out in favor of the things she needed to know. Time and place. Names. Witnesses. Motive. 

She had a keen eye, and soon highlighted and wrote down all the information she needed and took the metro to her first destination. 

Five of the case files she immediately discarded. One of them she knew Nino threw in just to make fun of her. A nosy amateur reporter got his nose where it didn’t belong and got himself stabbed. He was fine, but it still made headlines, ironically. She deleted the file and moved on to the next one. 

There were three more assaults that she also threw out. She was just looking for the dirty stuff. There were two murders that caught her attention. 

One of them was a bouncer at a club in the seedier part of town. It wasn’t your regular bar brawl that got too heated, but the bouncer was found after hours strangled to death in the bathroom. The picture of the scene showed a distinct line across his neck. His eyes bulged out of his head and his tongue hung almost comically out of the side of his mouth. There were no witnesses, and nothing was seen in the security cameras. The police had no suspect, and as far as they were concerned, the case was closed. 

Alya went to the bar where the crime took place. In the middle of the day, there were a couple of old men who sat at the bar with three day old scruff, nursing their hard liquor. The only other people in the bar was a pretty bartender and a muscular man who stood at the exit, watching the room with a bored glaze to his eye. 

He perked up when she walked in. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked over to the bar and sat down. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender walked over to her, cleaning glasses like they did in the movies, pretending to look busy. The glass that she repeatedly ran the cloth over was over polished to a shine at this point, but she kept at it, like a nervous tick. 

“A shot of something hard, please.” 

She laughed. “Long day?” 

“It’s gonna be.” Alya was poured a shot glass of tequila and given a wedge of lemon with a smile. She smiled back at the bartender and swallowed the shot without a grimace. “Much better,” she said with a sigh. 

A grunt called the attention of the bartender to the other side of the bar and she went to serve one of the grumpy old men who needed a refill. Alya couldn't help but notice that the tight jeans the girl wore were doing her all kinds of favors. 

When the girl turned back, Alya greeted her with a flirty smile. 

“What are you in for?” Her name tag said Naomi. 

Alya sighed. “I’m afraid if I tell you that too soon, I’ll scare you away.” 

Naomi shrugged and picked up another glass to polish. “Try me.”

“I’m looking for information on Wyatt Vaughn. He was killed here about a month ago.” 

Immediately, the flirty air around the two was shut down. Alya tried to keep her smile, but the bartender had already called over the bouncer. 

“Oh come on, I’m trying to look for who killed him. The police won’t say anything.” A large hand gripped Alya’s upper arm and began pulling her towards the door. 

“That’s because they know what’s good for them.” Naomi called on her way out. 

“Can you give me a hint?” Alya fought in vain against the strength of the bouncer, her feet sticking to the floor desperately. “I just want to know who killed him. They could come again.”

“One hint: stay out of their business and they’ll leave you alone.” 

The door to the bar slammed in her face. Alya looked down to her phone and reread the case file for Wyatt Vaughn. There was something odd about it, something just as odd as the Agreste killing. 

Nothing about the case made sense. There was no motive, no witnesses, nothing that any other case had. Vaughn seemed to be a regular guy, nothing too suspicious in his past besides some petty crime in his youth. His death didn’t make any sense. And whatever reaction she just got from Naomi meant that there was actually something going on. 

Alya looked to the next name on her list. There was a cop who had been killed outside the line of duty. The cops thought that he was killed by one of the people he put away, but everyone who had been arrested by him were either non violent offenders or still in jail. There were no definitive suspects for this case either. 

One thing Alya hated more than any other was to talk with the relative of someone who had recently died. When she was a petty reporter, she had to talk to all of the spouses of recent murder victims. They were always so unwilling to talk, but she had to get a story. She always got a story. 

She got really good at getting the information she needed from people who were unwilling to talk. Now here she was, at the doorstep of another widow who was likely to be grieving. She would have to get information through tears and sobs. She was not excited about it. 

Three knocks on the door and she stood back a respectful distance. She placed her hands at her side, relaxed. Not asking for anything, not expecting anything. Just there for some questions. 

The door remained closed. 

She knocked again. Nothing. 

She made a note on her phone to remind her to go there the next day to try and find something, but for now she was going on to the next location. As she stepped down the stairway leading to the door, a car pulled up in the drive. 

Alya stood for a moment and watched the car pull up. A woman watched from the driver's seat. Parked and got out of the car. 

“You’re here about Liam?” 

Alya nodded. 

The woman sighed and nodded. She opened the back door and hefted a young child onto her hip, her purse dangling from her other arm. She stepped delicately to the front door and unlocked it, stepping inside. “Well, come in. I’m sure you got your questions.”

Alya hurried inside and waited at the door for the woman to get herself settled. She placed the kid on the couch in the living room, turned on the TV, and tossed her keys onto the table. 

“Tea?” She called from the kitchen. 

“Just water, please,” Alya responded. She heard the tap running and the woman brought her a small cup of water, then ushered them towards the living room. 

“Sit. What do you want to know about Liam?”

Alya sat politely and opened up her phone. “Do you mind if I record this conversation? For my own memory.” The woman nodded and Alya hit record, then switched over to her notes. “Do reporters come around here a lot?” Alya tried to make light, but the heavy brow of the woman across from her didn’t lighten. 

“Often. It was the first police killing outside of work in years. These things scare people. Reporters like to scare people. It sells papers.” 

“I’m looking more into keeping people safe.”

“How do you expect to do that?” The woman took a sip from her own glass of water and sat back in her chair. 

“Honestly, I don’t know. But people deserve to know the truth, whatever that is. How they protect themselves is up to them.” 

The woman nodded. “You’re pretty smart, girl. People fend for themselves. They don't tend to protect others. That work’s too hard nowadays. Too dirty.” She took a long draw. “No one’s willing to get their hands dirty.”

“A lot of people are scared. A lot of them are stuck. They don’t know what they're up against, so they don’t know what to fight against.”

“Or for.”

“Or for.”

There was a long pause. Whatever was happening on the TV made the toddler giggle from where he sat on the couch. 

“How does my husband play into this?”

“I think the person who killed your husband has been killing other people around Paris. Something about it bothers me. I think there’s a lot more to the story than what’s been told.”

The woman sighed and leaned forward. Her face looked tired, her eyes heavily lidded and her mouth pouted. “My husband… I don’t know what he was up to, but it was nothing good. He was out at all hours. He said that he was working late, but there were nights when he didn’t take his badge. There were nights when he didn’t come home until morning, and then he was out again after breakfast. Whatever he was doing, he brought home a lot of cash.”

Alya leaned forward. 

“He deposited his earnings into a joint bank account. I told him I don’t want to know what he was up to, as long as the family didn’t get hurt. He managed to give us a decent college fund for our boy. Whatever he was up to… I don’t want to know.” 

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I had plenty of ideas. I keep running it through my head about what he might be getting into when he was out at night. Prostitution, drugs, theft. There’s a million ways to make money, and he was an able bodied man. He could have got into any of it.”

“Did he leave anything behind? Did he say anything about what he might have been up to?” 

The woman shook her head. “Nothing like that. I-” She glanced to the kitchen. 

“What?”

“I got a package.” 

“May I see it?”

The woman nodded and led Alya to the kitchen. A small grey bag with a mailing sticker was the only thing on the kitchen counter. It sat there like a bad omen. You could feel the anxiety surrounding it. “I got it a couple of days ago, but I haven’t opened it. I don’t know what it might be.” Alya reached for it. 

“Do you mind?” 

Alya grabbed the package, and felt the solid block of materials inside. She gently ripped open the plastic packaging and pulled out a stack of five hundred euro bills with a paper note settled on top. She passed the money to the woman who stood beside her, silent tears streaming from her face. 

As discretely as possible, Alya took a picture of the package return address and slipped her phone back into her pocket. 

“That’s all the questions I have.” That was not remotely true, but Alya had enough information to go off of, and she thought it kinder to leave this woman with the last remnants of her husband that she had left. 

Alya returned to work at the end of the day. Her excursion took more time than it should have, so most of the office was locked up when she came in. She retrieved her belongings from her desk and grabbed her laptop. Ideas and theories ran around in her head. 

She called Marinette to try and sort it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alya is a raging bisexual and no one can tell me otherwise


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya gets herself in trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: blood, death, guns

Alya was getting far too close to the truth for comfort. She was on a roll, having interviewed two people that day. The fact that the bartender completely denied her any information made Alya even more hungry for the truth. Marinette tried to quell the anxiety about the story, but when Alya got her teeth in something, she was like a rabid dog. 

She had called that night with her excited reporter craze in her voice. Marinette could hear her frantically flipping through her notes and typing things on the computer as they talked. There were long sections of conversation devoted to Alya ranting about theories she had about who was covertly killing in Paris. 

“So, we know that Gabriel Agreste was killed. We know that no one knows who did it, and that there was pretty much no possible way for the killer to get in and out of the offices without being seen. There was nothing stolen from his office, either. We know that he was strangled. And that’s pretty much it.” 

Marinette fingered the pile of stolen paperwork she had taken from the Agreste offices the night she had killed Gabriel Agreste. There had to be information hidden within the countless forms she had taken, but she hadn’t been able to find anything definitive yet. 

“Now, Vaughn was also strangled. From the way the bruises on their necks look, I’m pretty sure they were strangled with the same thing. I mean, it’s practically identical. So, if both of those men were killed by the same person, that means they have to be connected in some way, right?” Alya took a deep breath. “I mean, it wouldn't make any sense for this person to just be going around killing people at random. That’s not what serial killers do. I mean some do, but whatever. There has to be some sort of connection.” 

Marinette listened to Alya flipping through some of her papers. 

“Maybe they were all working together? I mean, obviously not together. I doubt Gabriel Agreste would lower himself to make deals with a bouncer at a seedy bar. But what if he was working _for_ him?” More rustling of notes. “Okay, yeah. So Gabriel Agreste was doing some seedy shit, right, and he had a big ring of people working for him. He has the resources, it would make sense. And this person who has been doing the murdering got some information from this little guy, right? And that made him able to put the pieces together about Agreste. Then they planned on killing him. Right?”

Marinette made an ‘I don’t know’ sound into the phone. In fact, Alya was pretty much dead on. Except, she had known about the goings on of the Agreste corporation since the beginning. 

She had been planning that particular death in her head for years. 

“But what doesn't make sense is how he was able to do it. The dude had to be able to get into the office, kill Gabe, and then get out before security even began. Ooh, what if the killer worked there?” Marinette tensed. “I mean, it would make sense if they were security, right? They would have all the access to the offices. They’re pretty much the only people who have keys to every part of the building except for the janitors. Ooh, it could be a janitor.” 

Alya rustled through some papers and mumbled to herself under her breath. Marinette listened to her, concerned. She was getting way too close for comfort. 

She wasn’t worried that her friend would suspect her. Alya still thought that the killer was a guy. But she had more information than Marinette had suspected. She had a long way to go yet, but she had a lot of pieces. 

“What about that cop?” Marinette asked, hopefully throwing her off the trail a little. 

“That’s also a little stumping. He doesn’t have to fit in, but I think he does. He wasn’t killed the same way. With the other guys, it looked like something was used to wrap around their necks. Like a wire or something. But with Liam, there’s large bruises that look like hands. It’s still basically the same, but it looks a lot more personal than the others. Passionate, you know?”

Truthfully, that was probably the angriest Marinette had ever been when she had killed someone. She wrapped her hands around his neck and didn’t let go. Tears streamed down her face and she had to wipe them away before they made it onto his skin. 

That was the first time she had really wanted someone _gone_. Such a terrible person didn’t deserve to live. 

“I guess.” Marinette said distractedly. 

“And that package that he left. I mean, that’s a lot of money. He was saving up for his kid to go to college. It doesn’t seem like he would be the kind of guy to get into dark stuff.”

Marinette almost scoffed. 

“And it doesn't looked like he was connected with the bouncer at all. Maybe he was connected with Agreste. I mean, if you’re gonna be doing illegal shit, you might as well own a couple of corrupt cops, right? But the bouncer didn’t look like he was making much money. He still worked at that bar. What did he have to do with anything?” 

A long silence drew out between them. 

“Al?” Marinette prodded. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“What is it?”

“The return address on the package.”

“What about it?”

“It’s in the shipping district.” 

Marinette sat straight up, urgency in her voice. “What’s the address.” Alya listed it off. Marinette could practically see Alya itching for the door. “You realize I’m not gonna let you go there, right?”

“Well obviously I’m not gonna go. What, do you think I want to get myself killed?” Marinette shook her head at the indignant tone. She knew Alya too well. Not only was she a good liar and quick on her feet, but she wouldn't let good information go to waste, no matter the cost. “I’m just gonna research the facility. See if they have any records of operation, you know? See who owns it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, Mari. I’m fine. I’m not going.”  
…… 

Ladybug watched from an opposite rooftop as Alya sat in her car outside of the warehouse in the shipping district she had been told about. She could faintly see her and her binoculars hiding behind a large bush in a parking lot a couple hundred meters from the warehouse. 

The doors were tightly sealed, the entrance shrouded in shadow as the evening sun set behind it. Everything around it was silent, dead. Other than scurrying rats that chased each other across the barren lot in front of the warehouse, nothing moved. 

For more than an hour, Ladybug watched Alya watch the warehouse while the sun settled completely beyond the horizon. Darkness made it more difficult to see, but it didn’t stop Marinette from waiting for her friend to leave danger behind. It was too much to ask for her to leave Alya be. She wouldn't allow an innocent to get hurt, no matter what. 

Her moral code was strict. If someone didn’t deserve to die, they wouldn't by her hand. And if, by another hand, they were hurt, she would be the one to cut that hand off. 

After almost two and a half hours of waiting, it looked like Alya was about to pack up and leave. Ladybug let out a long sigh of relief and watched her friend turn on the car engine, leaving the lights off. She stood up and stretched out her tired, cold limbs, ready to climb back down to the ground. 

Distant voices made her collapse back onto her stomach to prevent her from being seen. Peeking her head over the roof’s edge, she saw a pair of large men in all black walking towards the warehouse from the opposite end of the lot. 

She looked back to where Alya sat in her car and hoped she didn’t see them, but her luck had never been that good. She heard the car engine shut down again, and Alya took her binoculars out of their pouch, leaning as far forward in her seat as she could without honking the horn with her body. 

The two men talked in deep voices as they walked to the warehouse. They passed the large doors in the middle of the building and approached the smaller door at their side. One man fumbled with keys and dropped them a couple times, the other laughed. It looked like they were stumbling drunk, which set Ladybug on edge. Big, dangerous men were never to her liking, but when they were drunk, they became unpredictable. 

Another huge laugh made its way across the emptiness of the lot, and the door slammed closed hard enough to create an echo. It bounced a couple of times on its hinges and settled slightly ajar. 

“Fuck,” Ladybug whispered to herself. An open door to a mysterious treasure trove of information. She looked to Alya to confirm her suspicions. The girl was already out of her car and inching towards the open door. “Fuck.” 

Her grappling rope was tied around her waist. She quickly tied it to a nearby structure that would be strong enough to hold her, glad for a moment that she was in an industrial park. She ran and leapt off the roof, holding tightly to the rope with gloved hands. The rope pulled at her arms and she pulled back just as hard, swinging back towards the wall of the building she leapt from. She softened the impact with her knees and began climbing down the rope to the ground. 

Usually, she would try to detach the rope from the building, but she didn’t have the time. Alya was already at the entrance of the warehouse. Marinette cursed again and left the rope where it hung, sprinting across the lot to where Alya had disappeared. 

Alya left the door open behind her, a smart move. If it locked from the inside she would be trapped with no way out. But it was particularly kind that Ladybug now had a way into the building. 

The interior was almost completely dark. Looming shadows shaped like hulking giants peered at her from the corners of the rooms. Dust clung in the air, thick and choking. Most shapes she passed were covered in huge sheets that buffeted with the air from the open door. It looked abandoned, save for a soft light coming from a room ahead of her. Machines whirred somewhere further in, the sound almost completely covering that of voices having a conversation somewhere in the building. 

On silent toes, Marinette crept forward, clutching her tool belt, searching for things she might be able to use. Pepper spray in a closed space would only hurt her. She had tried to build up a tolerance to it, but she still wept with the smell of it. If she got some in her eyes, it would be game over. 

Her garrote was her weapon of choice. Every message she sent, every body she left, had the telltale signs of a bruised line across the neck, showing how she had killed them. But it took a long time, more than one would expect. It wasn’t like the movies, where someone was choked for thirty seconds and they were dead. It took minutes, long, grueling minutes. There would most likely be a crowd of people where Alya was going. She would have to act quickly. There would be no time for slow work. 

The cool metal of her baton called to her. It sung under her fingers. She pulled it out of its loop in her belt deftly, and extended it as quietly as possible. The shining metal caught what little light there was in the dark warehouse, ready to fight. 

The light that she saw glowing from the opposite end of the warehouse was growing brighter the closer she came to it. She just barely saw the outline of Alya creeping along the wall, keeping to the shadows. Her camera was clasped firmly in her hand, and Marinette could see it shaking. 

Alya came to a door where the light was coming from. These doors, too, were slightly opened. A crack that someone could just slip through. 

Marinette could see the thoughts going through her friend’s head, and she tried in vain to will them away. She wouldn't be able to get a good shot of whatever was inside at that angle, with such little room to maneuver. She was going to go through the door and face whatever was on the other side, without knowing what she was facing. 

Unfortunately, Marinette knew very well what she was facing. 

She had gone to incredible lengths to make sure that no one would have to face what she was now facing. 

No one else was going to die at the hands of these people. 

Marinette sprinted across the warehouse, attempting to get to Alya before she went through the door. She made it about halfway before Alya disappeared into the bright room. 

The conversation in the other room stopped as soon as Alya entered the room. Marinette stopped outside the door and peered through. 

Alya stood at the entrance, camera in hand, entire body shaking, but unmoving. A group of five men were sitting around a table playing cards and smoking. Glasses of hard liquor sat in front of each of them, and an almost empty bottle sat in the middle. Beyond them, workers sat over packages of something Marinette couldn't make out. They were putting handfuls of something into little bags and weighing them, then sending them down a conveyor belt, where they were packaged into boxes and taped shut. There were hundreds, probably thousands of boxes on the opposite wall. 

Everyone in the room stopped to look at Alya when she entered, even the workers on the line. The gentle whir of the conveyor belt became the only sound in the room. Breath was held by everyone except the guards, who looked almost gleeful by the development. 

“Get back to work,” one of them barked to the tens of workers they were presiding over. They collectively jumped and bowed their heads back to resume their work. Alya jumped, too. It was the only movement she had made since she entered the room. 

Two of the guards stood from their table and lumbered over to where Alya stood. 

“What’re you doing, little vixen?” 

“Wandered somewhere you don’t belong.” 

“You made a mistake coming here.”

The two spoke like they had rehearsed the lines. They walked menacingly, and Alya’s shaking only increased. 

“You even brought your camera,” one of them said as they finally made it over to her. One of them was easily a head taller than her, the other more than a foot. The shorter was stocky, and he looked like he would be harder to take down than the lanky taller one. Still, they were both ridiculously muscular, and there were three behind them that she would have to take care of as well. 

Thinking as tactically as possible, she thought she might be able to take out the first two before they knew what was happening, which left just three to take care of while Alya ran. But as it stood, Alya was standing directly in her way. 

Where she crouched behind the door, Marinette was in a terrible position for putting up a fight. She needed Alya to move. She needed more space that a doorway. She was not used to working in cramped quarters, with so many people, without having a plan. But her friend was in danger, and she couldn’t do nothing. 

Marinette missed a portion of conversation as she thought of ways to get through this. Her baton, the cat-shaped brass knuckles her mother gifted to her on her last birthday, her pepper spray, her garrote, and a small knife she found in old trunks of her grandfather’s hunting stuff. She left her rope back at the building she grappled off of. It would be useful, but she had to make do. She touched the ski mask that was pulled over her head, obscuring her identity, and hiding her hair beneath it. 

Tuning back into reality, she saw the two men had gotten incrementally closer to Alya, their focus solely on her. It would help, catching them by surprise. But-

One of them gripped Alya tightly by the upper arm, and the girl gasped. Marinette barely stopped her own outcry from leaving her lips. 

“This way, little fox.” The stocky one started pulling her away. The taller of the two stepped behind her, and went to close the door. 

Reacting instinctively, Marinette shot out her baton to stop it from closing. 

“Shit,” she whispered, then sprang into work. 

The guard glanced down to see what was caught in the door and Marinette extended the baton and pushed it up as she stood, ramming it as hard as she could into his head. She caught him in the nose and heard it break. He stumbled back with hands to face and Marinette opened to door to give her more room to move. She kicked him, hard, in the solar plexus and he toppled over, moaning. 

The guard who held Alya turned around to look just as Marinette was ramming the butt of her baton into his mouth. Blood spurted from his lips, but he seemed not to notice. She followed through with her swing and the baton made contact with his temple, splitting the skin along his eyebrow. He tossed Alya nonchalantly to the side, and she fell to the floor. Her elbows hit the concrete floor as she tried to protect her camera. 

Marinette slashed the baton out to his face again, and felt it connect with his cheekbone. He moved with it, and a bruise instantly sprang out along his light skin. Quickly, she let out jabs into his ribs. He was able to block the blows to his groin and face, but she landed most of her body shots. 

He was slow, she found out. Good. She could work with that. 

She saw a knife at his belt, and a gun on his opposite hip, but he hadn’t pulled either out. With baton in hand, she jumped to her knees and hit the back of his leg, grounding him on one knee. She jumped back up and grabbed for his knife, slashing it along his Achilles’ tendon. 

He roared out in pain and Marinette took a stance behind him, facing the other three guards who had yet to come to help their colleague. She firmly placed her knife along his carotid artery, holding him like a hostage. 

Alya remained on the floor next to her, watching the scene take place. 

Two guards stood in front of her; another was at the opposite end of the room, closing the door that lead to a joined room. The workers had all evacuated out the back door, so Marinette was left alone to protect Alya from four and a half guards. 

The two held guns on her, and the third in the back was slowly coming to join them. Marinette really hated guns. They were inaccurate, loud, and basically useless at close range. But at this range, they had the advantage. 

Marinette lowered herself to be more completely behind the guard she was holding in front of her. 

“The little fox has a friend,” the tallest of the guards said. 

She looked them up and down. Three guns to her one, the guard behind her who would be back at it any second who also had a gun, against her knife, baton, spray, and garrote, and a best friend to protect. 

She saw the next actions play out in her mind like a slow motion movie. Where her knife would connect, where their bullets would go, and how she would best them. She pulled the last object out of her belt and gave it a kiss before placing it securely back into its pocket. Her lucky charm always rode along with her. 

And now she was ready.

She spun completely around and ducked behind the guard, back to back. The others began shooting as soon as she moved, but the hulking guard she held as her shield caught all the bullets. He slumped into her, and she could feel the impact of the individual bullets that hit him. Her right arm swung out behind her as she ducked and let loose the blade she held. She heard the knife make contact with the shoulder of the middle guard, heard him cry out. 

With her newly vacated hand, she grabbed the gun from her shield’s pocket and blindly shot out beyond him. One of their bullets caught her outstretched arm, but she continued shooting as they found cover of their own behind upturned tables. 

Once sure that they had scattered along with her bullets, she came out of her cover and shot the man who had been hit by the knife. Her feet carried her to him, she traded her gun for the knife in his shoulder, and jumped over the table a guard had chosen to hide behind. 

She crouched down next to him where he sat with his gun ready. He hadn’t expected to see her in front of him. He aimed his gun at her, so she hit the exposed portion of his wrist with her baton to make him loose grip. He ended up shooting the boxes behind them then dropped the pistol. She gripped his arm and pulled him towards her, elbowing him in the temple. He staggered back and landed on his ass, so she took the opportunity to bring the bloodied knife across his neck. He moved at the right time, and she caught him on the upper chest instead. 

Abandoning the gun, he punched her in the jaw, but from his sitting position, he couldn't get any leverage. She launched herself onto him and punched him back, clocking him across the cheekbone, the nose, and the chin. The knife and baton she clutched in her hands added extra damage. He sported fresh gashes on his face from the sharp knife of his colleague. 

He grabbed for his knife, but she quickly jabbed her own into his neck. His eyes went wide as blood began pouring from him. He gasped for life and clutched onto his neck, as if he could keep himself alive. 

Marinette stood cautiously and ducked as bullets rang out towards her. They skipped off of the metal table and crashed into the boxes behind her. 

She peeked her head up again and saw the two guards who were left had collected themselves opposite her. They shot as soon as they saw her. The table wasn’t that heavy, she thought. She pocketed her baton and gripped the legs of the table, pushing it in front of her as fast as she could. 

The table rushed the guards and they began shouting and shooting, then diving away when their bullets didn’t make it through the thick metal. She abandoned the table and ran to the guard on her right side. 

With a running start, she jumped and grabbed onto his head, tucking it under her arm like a football, then swung her entire weight downwards, bringing his head crashing to the floor along with her. She stood and faced the other guard, who had his gun pointed to her. He shot, and she dodged, rolling behind the table she had used to charge them. His bullet found its way to his companion’s thigh, and he cried out. 

“Fuck!” 

“Sorry!” 

“Fuck you, man!”

Marinette used the momentary distraction to leap towards the second guard. He shot at her again, but missed both times. She grabbed the gun from his hand and dislodged it from his grip. Instead of shooting him, she took the magazine out of its cartridge and shot the remaining bullet close to his ear, aiming at the boxes behind him. 

He yelled and cursed, grabbing at his ear. She brought his head into her knee and punched him several times in the solar plexus, rendering him almost useless. His breath came out in shallow bursts and she finally elbowed him square in the back, flattening him to the ground. With a final kick across the face, he was knocked out, bound to stay that way for at least several minutes. 

She looked back across the room to look for the last guard. Scanning the room, she thought he had fled. 

When she turned back to check on Alya, she saw him wrap his arm around her throat and aim a gun at her head. 

Marinette’s breath left her body. 

“It’s time for you to leave, girl.” He cocked the gun and shoved it more firmly into Alya’s temple. The girl whimpered, a tear leaking from her eye.

“If you kill her, I kill you.” She tried to warp her voice as much as possible. She wasn’t about to let Alya know that her best friend was secretly a crime fighting vigilante. Who had just killed three people. “If you let her go, I won’t hurt you. You can scurry back underground with the rest of the rats you call friends.” She took a deep breath. “But if you kill her…” the silence rang out before her. “I end you.” 

This was the most scared she had been in a long time. Probably the most angry, too. It wasn’t a good combination when trying to fight for your life, so she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Her chest was tightened, and she felt her muscles begin to get sore with their workout. The bullet that scraped her upper arm left a sizeable gap that was bleeding down to her fingertips. 

“Or,” the guard said, now pointing the gun at her. “I could just shoot you, then kill this little fox.” He pulled her closer. “Or I could have a little fun with her first.” 

However mad Marinette had been before was nothing compared to the rage that encompassed her at those words. Her vision literally turned red around the edges, and she focused completely on the man who was threatening her best friend. There was no letting him go at that point. No matter what, he had to die. 

His gun was pointed at her, so there was little danger that he would be able to readjust to shoot Alya. She would be safe for the moment. If she made a quick enough movement, he wouldn't be able to shoot her. If she charged him, he would definitely shoot her. She had to figure out a way to dodge his bullets, but make it to Alya before he turned the gun on her. 

The table was beside her, too far away to make it to cover. It would only take a split second for her to make it to him, but he had several bullets left, she guessed. She was going to get shot. There was no way around it if she wanted to save her friend. 

She took a deep breath, readying herself for the inevitable. 

She tucked into herself and jumped forward, rolling as far as she was able to get to the guard. Shots rang out, but she didn’t feel them hit her, yet. She came out of her roll and dove towards her friend, tackling the two to the ground. She felt the bullet score across her side, but she ignored it. 

The three tumbled to the floor and Marinette grabbed the gun from the guard, pulling from his fingers and turning it around on him. Three shots found their way into his skull, until she could barely recognize his face anymore. 

She wanted to keep shooting, but she restrained herself. Her hands shook. Her entire body shook. She was still angry, still looking for a fight. 

The guard behind her moaned. He would be waking up soon. It would be no use to deal with him now. It would just bring more trouble, more danger for Alya. 

“Come on.” Marinette stood and grabbed Alya’s hand, dragging her up from the body of the guard. They escaped out the door to the darkness of the warehouse, and made it through the other door that lead outside. Marinette walked to the only car in the parking lot and opened the door, shoving Alya inside. She slammed the door behind her and began running from the lot. 

The car door opened behind her and Alya called out. “Wait!” Marinette ignored the calls and kept running. “Who are you?” Alya screamed. 

She didn’t answer. When she got to the building that her rope was still attached to, she climbed up as quickly as possible, pulled the rope up, and disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien gets a bad idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who hasn't posted since last year lmao. Sorry

It really wasn’t that uncommon to be called to the warehouse district for some murder, rape, or other unsightly act of gruesomeness. Nino had spent a good portion of his time as a police officer taking pictures of and analyzing the patterns of crime scenes. He was good at it, but it still made him sick. 

What was uncommon was for the murders to happen at such a quantity. Four bodies were laced across the floor of the abandoned, dusty building. There was nothing else in the room except for the bodies, like it had been completely emptied for the express purpose of setting them there. The bodies had been stripped to their underwear, and there weren’t any weapons left in the room. 

One had had a knife jabbed into his throat, and a large pool of blood had washed into one of the drains in the center of the room. It was a huge mess, but Nino documented every curve of the river. Another had been stabbed in the shoulder, then shot in the head. Another was absolutely riddled with bullets and slumped to the side. And the last had been shot several times in the head. His teeth had been shattered by a bullet, and his face was practically unidentifiable. If they didn’t get a hit on his fingerprints, it would be a bitch of a time finding out who this guy was. 

The last one was the one that bothered him the most. The three others were completely ordinary, like they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure, having twenty some bullets in your body was a little strange, but not unheard of, especially in this area.

But the last body, based on the way he was lying, and the way the splatter looked on the floor, he was laying down when he was shot. Someone had stood above them and shot down at them. That made him think that there was more than just a firefight. Someone had to take him down. 

He thought similarly when he saw the knife in the neck of another guy, and the wound in the shoulder of a third. Someone had managed to kill these men and get away. Maybe they came in and shot all the men, but by the look of it, these guys were dangerous. They would have been armed, probably with more than one weapon. 

It didn’t make sense how someone could just come in and kill four guys then leave. 

But then, there were plenty of cases that made no sense. Anomalies of murders. People who came in, killed, and had no trace of an exit. 

It felt connected to that Agreste murder to Nino. He didn’t see how, but he could feel it like a tingle in the back of his head. 

He called Alya when he got back to the station, listening to the ringing as he looked through the crime scene photos. 

She usually picked up on the first ring every time, but it took about five to get through to her. 

“Al, you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. What’s up?” Her tone was more flat than usual. 

“I’m working on a new case, and it looks weird.” 

Alya sighed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

“I can’t give you a lot of details, but there were a couple of murders in the warehouse district, and there’s basically no trace of who did it. No fingerprints, no security cameras, no weapons left behind. The entire room was empty, the dudes were almost naked. Someone came in and cleaned it up. But-“ he took a deep breath - “but I don’t know. I feel like it has something to do with the Agreste thing.”

“Oh, it definitely has something to do with the Agreste thing.” 

Nino perked up. “What do you know?”

“I know that if I tell you anything else, that I’m gonna be a witness, and I don’t want that on my shoulders, Nino. I have plenty of other things to worry about. But yes, they are connected. A lot of things are connected, Nino. What have I been trying to tell you for the past month?” Alya hung up on him. 

Something was definitely wrong. What did she mean, she would be considered a witness? He sucked in a breath. Had she been there? Had she seen she had done it? He had to talk to her. 

…… 

Reporters flooded the space outside the car as Adrien emerged. Their flashing lights didn’t reach past the thick shades that were covering his eyes, but they still bothered him. There was another press conference that day, and they were all likely there early to try and get the best pictures to send back to their editors in time for the papers to be released the next day. He respected the effort that went into their work, but he also hated every single one of them. 

The short distance between the car and the front doors of the building was a battle ground, and Adrien’s bodyguard fought through it quickly. Adrien hid his face from the cameras like he usually did in the past week. The reporters didn't need incriminating pictures of the bags under his eyes, the dryness of his lips, or the ramshackle state of his clothing. He wasn't ready to show his face yet, and they knew it. 

They took it as their express responsibility to make him look as sad and pitiful as possible. It sold more subscriptions. 

In the elevator on the way up, Nathalie briefed him on the activities for the day. It was a long list. Press conferences and dinners, meetings and lunches. There was paperwork to look over, lists of things that needed approving, and the entire magazine spread to rearrange and make look as good as possible. There was a high standard to live up to, after his father. 

The multinational company was built from the ground to be a success, all on his father’s back. It was a heavy weight to carry. And now it was on Adrien’s shoulders. He didn’t know if he was ready. 

But he had no choice. It was his responsibility now, no matter what. 

He was greeted the same way by the staff when he stepped out of the elevator. Nathalie was still droning on about his list of activities for the day. He tuned her out for the moment, preferring to take in the silence of the workroom. It was never as quiet as it was when he walked through the elevator doors in the morning. 

Every eye turned to him, then immediately away. The people around the room returned to their work, pretending that they never even noticed that he had entered. All eyes except for one pair. 

One of the newest interns, the one who got the pastries in the mornings, kept eye contact with him every morning. She wasn’t afraid of looking at him, it seemed. When their eyes met, she nodded briefly, and went back to her work. 

It was the acknowledgement that he appreciated. She wasn’t acting like the others, who felt, to him, as if they were pitying him with every whispered word or averted gaze. They treated him like he needed space, not like he needed to get work done. But she didn’t shy away. She treated him like it was any other day, like her boss had just walked into work, and she continued her duties like she was supposed to. 

It was refreshing. He found a light smile tip the corner of his lips as he nodded back, then turned back to Nathalie. 

“Do you have the papers for the nine o’clock meeting?” 

“They’re in the office. Should be on your desk. The rest of your papers will be delivered shortly. They still need to be printed. Some of them got lost in the shuffle.”

“Really?” They made it to his office and stepped inside. The bustle of the workroom was silenced as the door closed. “That’s never happened here before.” The paper work in the office was notoriously strict. No memo was ever lost, just how his father had ensured. If something went missing, someone got fired. 

Nathalie shrugged in her usual noncommittal way. “A lot of things have never happened here before.” Her gaze darkened for a moment before she shook herself out of it. Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ when she realized what she had said. “Sir, I didn't mean-“

“It’s fine, Nat.” He found the paperwork he was looking for on his desk and shuffled through them. “Everyone’s tense. You don’t need to be on edge around me.” He stood with the papers and walked to the door where she stood. He placed a kind hand on her shoulder as he passed and nodded. She nodded, too. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw mist begin to form in her eyes. “I’m getting coffee before the meeting. Do you want any?”

She shook her head and stayed in the office while he went to the kitchen. 

The coffee was freshly made, and there was a small crowd around the pot when he entered. He went to get his own mug from the cabinet, and when he turned around, the kitchen was emptied. Adrien sighed. So much for small talk. 

He poured himself a mug of coffee and stirred a generous helping of sugar into the hot liquid. He placed the papers on the counter and began to wade through them. There was a lot of information he had to prep himself with before the meeting. He knew some of the responsibilities of his father before he died, but never the degree to which he worked. There was paperwork for years that was expected to be completed in days. He took a long sip of coffee and felt himself fade from existence, his mind being replaced by numbers and pictures, graphs and models, and models in dresses. 

He heard movement behind him and turned to find the dark haired girl who nodded at him that morning fixing the tray of pastries on the far counter. He turned away from his work and watched her work. Her moves were decisive and quick. Bagels were sliced, pastries rearranged, and plates cleaned. She didn’t pay him any attention, and he appreciated it. 

“Hey,” he called across the room. Her shoulders tensed and she turned around. 

“Yeah?” She was prettier up close, he thought. Her fringe fell just below her eyebrows and tangled in her eyelashes when she blinked. They framed her big blue eyes in a strangely innocent way. Though her outfit was anything but. She looked adult and in charge, even in the way she moved, like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

Her lips were painted a light pink and her eyes were rimmed in black liner that was tastefully placed at the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks were naturally pink, he saw, or maybe she was just flushed. Pink suited her. She wore a bright pink top that flowed and exposed a large portion of her back. In any other work place, she would be expected to be fully covered, but at Agreste Fashions, if you looked good, nothing else mattered. Halloween parties got especially slinky. 

He told himself he was noticing all of this because he was a fashion editor for one of the biggest international corporations of the century, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to look. The way her slacks captured the curves of her thighs, and the kitten heels accentuated them. He wouldn't mind looking at her for a long time. An inappropriate amount of time. He forced himself to look back at her face. Her blush had grown stronger. 

Shit. She noticed him looking. Of course she noticed him looking. He was an idiot, and he was basically eye banging an employee. He was an asshole is what he was. A stupid asshole with no filter and roaming eyes and fuck. Fuck! Say something! “I-“ he cleared his throat. “I just wanted to thank you, or your mother, I guess. For the pastries. They were delicious.” He actually didn't have any time to try them, but he was sure they were good. They looked good. He thought. He hadn’t opened the tin. He was an asshole. 

She smiled. “I’ll pass the message along. There’s more here if you want. I bring them in every morning. I’m half convinced that’s why I still have this job.” 

“Keep bringing them in and I’ll have you promoted.” They shared a small smile. HE walked over to the pastries and picked one up. He hadn’t been able to take a bite of the croissant he had taken the last time they met in the kitchen. A shoot got in his way. He picked out a filled pastry that looked especially tempting and walked back to his space. “I don’t think I ever caught your name,” he questioned. 

“Marinette.” She nodded. “Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Adrien,” he nodded back.

“I know.”

“I-“

“Adrien!” Nathalie appeared in the doorway with only slightly smudged eye makeup. “We’re going to be late.”

Adrien cursed and picked up the papers behind him, then downed the last of his coffee before filling the mug again. “Nice meeting you, Marinette.” She nodded at him as he exited the room. It was only when he was at the meeting and his stomach began rumbling that he realized he forgot to take the pastry from the kitchen. 

After the fifty Knute meeting he was due for a press conference, another one regarding the death of his father, in the lobby of the building. It was being set up at the moment. His body guard was down there making sure security was as tight as possible. Though nobody was likely to try and assassinate him in front of a crowd, there was still a threat. Security was top priority.

The meeting droned on for the next hour like every other meeting did. Adrien forced himself to pay attention, but most of his work was designating other’s work. He had very little invested in this particular meeting. The least he could do was keep his eyes open and respond to questions, so that’s all he did. He nodded when he needed to, and hummed agreement, and supported his head with his hand when it got too heavy. 

The press conference was immediately after the meeting, but the reporters would have to wait for him to come to them, so really, it was any time he wanted. He had to get makeup done to cover the dark circles under his eyes, and make him look like the model and prodigal son he was supposed to be. His hair was fixed, clothes changed, and skin moisturized, like it was before every event with a camera. He was used to sitting back and letting the makeup artists and designers take over his body. At that point, it wasn’t really his own until after the shoot was done. 

He walked up to the podium with all the fanfare of a cow being led to the slaughter. Microphones from every news channel were surrounding him like a wall, and behind them, cameras and eager faces were searching for the saddest angles to shoot him at. Vultures, he called them in his head. 

After a brief statement about his intents at the meeting, he spoke into the microphone. “I’ll take your questions now.” He wasn’t there to speculate about the murder of his father, but just about what had happened, and what he was expecting to come of the company. It was the first conference that was explicitly accepting questions about the murder. The police had just allowed him to speak freely about it. It was a useless pursuit for the reporters, as he knew exactly nothing about the investigation. 

A roar of questions washed over him as he opened the floor. Hands shot up, reporter notebooks were waved in the air, and people began pushing to get to the front of the floor. His bodyguard bristled behind him. 

Adrien pointed to a reporter who wasn’t freaking out as much, if only to spite the others. She stood and opened her notebook. “What new details have been released about the murder of Gabriel Agreste.”

“There is no information so far as to who did it. There is no evidence that places anyone in particular at the scene. There is no speculation about what weapon was used.” He might as well get the popular questions out of the way. “There is nothing new, unfortunately. And yes, I’m just as frustrated as you all.” Murmurs ran through the crowd and more hands shot up. “Yes?”

“What is being done to prevent this from happening again?” 

“That’s really not a question I can answer. My security has been tightened to make sure there’s not another Agreste murder splashed across the headlines, but other than that, you should talk to the chief of police.” He couldn’t help the bitterness that ran through his voice. 

“Do you suspect anyone in particular. Any enemies that Gabriel Agreste made over the years?”

“My father made plenty of enemies making his way to the top. A lot of people would like to take his place, but I doubt any of them would report to murder. Either way, the police are investigating other CEOs, though there’s little evidence to suggest one of them would have any way to do something like that.” 

“Is there anyone within the company that would try to make their way to the top by killing Gabriel?”

“I mean, probably. But the police are investigating every possibility.” 

“What about the employees?”

“That’s also a possibility.”

“What responsibilities are you taking over as CEO of Agreste Fashions?” 

“All of them.” 

“Will there be any change of the corporate structure of the business?”

“I took over all the shares my father had. There’s been no other changes. The power structure remains the same, and an Agreste is still in control of the company.” 

More menial questions were spotted over the next half hour. The interview was being broadcast, so Adrien had to watch his tongue, which he didn’t enjoy, but he held it together as best he could. 

“What do you say to the allegations that Gabriel Agreste was running nefarious activity out of Agreste Fashions distribution plants?”

A pretty reporter with a big poof of auburn hair looked over horn rimmed glasses to stare Adrien down. The entire crowd of reporters went quiet at the question. 

“Excuse me?”

She cleared her throat and spoke louder. “There are accusations that Gabriel Agreste is running illicit activities under the name of Agreste Fashions. The company was struggling for a while before they took an unexpected upturn in profits. What do you say to that?”

Adrien was taken aback. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. His bodyguard began to step forward to cancel the interview, but adrien put up a hand to stop him. “I don’t really have anything to say to that. I think it’s a ridiculous claim, something that the rumor mills love to spit out to paint a good man in a bad light. My father worked his entire life to build this company, and it’s success stands on its own. To claim that my father did anything illegal to ensure the growth of his company is… he was a good man. He wouldn't do anything like that. The recession hit the entire world hard, and the company suffered until we turned our practices around and made sure that we would survive. The fact that we are still standing is a testament to the resolve of my father and his company. Next question.”

He burned through the next questions in a trance, still reeling over the accusations. The same reporter asked several other questions, but seemed satisfied with her answer. By the end, people were asking throw away questions that would get them more ratings. 

“Do you plan on hitting back? Going vigilante?” The crowd laughed. 

“I don’t really have that kind of time. I have to take care of a company. I don’t have the ability to go out at night in search of a killer that may be right under my nose. I’m leaving the police work to the police.”

“Do you have anything to say to the killer?”

Adrien thought for a moment. He had a lot to say, actually. There were angry words and sad words, pleading ones that wracked his brain at night. There was confusion and rage, but mostly sadness. His father was gone, and that was it. Nothing more. He just had to deal with it. 

“I don’t know why you did what you did, but this isn’t the end. Justice will come to you, and at the end of the day, this company and I will be standing tall. We can’t be knocked down. I won’t let this be the end. For anyone. Thank you.” 

Tears clogged his throat, and his last words came more as a whisper. There was much less commotion than there usually was at the end of a conference. Perhaps the reporters were sated for the moment. Maybe they had a moment of human compassion for a man who had just lost his father. Either way, he took the opportunity to make his escape into the elevator. There was more work to be done, to do what he promised he would do. Protect the company, its workers, and himself. 

But the questions stuck in his head. Did his father do anything illegal? Of course not. He wasn’t that kind of person. He may have had a focus solely on the business, and had little room for much else, but he was a good person. Adrien refused to believe that he got into anything illegal in the dark of the night. He wouldn't put the business in the hands of criminals. 

Would Adrien do anything about it? Go vigilante, as the reporter put it? Hide his face under a hoodie and run around on rooftops at night to try and find a murderer? 

It was crazy. Absurd. Tempting. 

There was probably little he could do, but waiting for the answers to come through the police was excruciating. They knew more than they were letting on, he knew. It was all a part of the process, he was assured, but he was stuck in the dark until they had solid answers. It made sense, in a stupid way. He wanted to know more. 

He could know more, if he really wanted to. There were leads that he could chase down. He could talk to other CEOs of neighboring fashion companies. He had ways to contact people who might want to do his father harm. He had the option, why didn’t he take it? 

In the short elevator ride up to the offices, he hatched a plan. A crazy, stupid, absurd plan that probably would do more harm than good. He was going vigilante.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya and Ladybug work together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my story with the least notes rn, but it’s probably my favorite. I’m really excited about it. I like badass Marinette and like,,, killing people lmao

Alya looked up when she heard the knock come at her balcony door. She still didn’t know how this person was able to jump from roof to roof across the Paris skyline, and scale buildings with apparent ease, but she had seen it for herself. It was truly impressive, the strength of the girl. 

She let her in, the person who called herself Ladybug. It had been weeks since she had saved her life by killing four others, and she was still shaken to the core. Nino had tried to get in contact with her, but she had cut him off almost completely. He was this close to showing up at her door. 

She couldn't decide whether or not she was able to trust this person. Ladybug wore a voice modulator every time they spoke, and her face was completely covered. She only knew that she was speaking to a woman from context. No other information had been slipped, and as a reporter, Alya was infuriated. 

She wanted facts, information, proof of what she was dealing with, but she got none. The only thing she was allowed to see into was the selective information that she was given to by Ladybug. 

She looked forward to the meetings every time they happened, which was only twice in the past weeks. But every time, she got closer to figuring out the secrets that she had been trying to decode. 

Ladybug took to the corners of the room, avoiding windows and the doorways whenever possible. She looked paranoid, anxious. Like she was waiting for something to jump out at her. 

“What have you got?” Alya sat in front of her desk, computer ready. She was going to get every word if it killed her. She wasn’t allowed to record, unless she put the girl’s voice through a system that would make her sound like an actual human being, so Alya’s fingers itched to begin typing. 

“Not much. I’ve been staking out the warehouse, but there’s little to no activity there anymore. They’ve likely moved after the attack, and I haven’t been able to find where they’re relocated.” Alya felt the words like a slap. It was her fault, after all. If she hadn’t gone in, and been discovered, and almost killed, they would still be there, ready to be spied on. “I’ve been searching different districts with places large enough to hold an operation like that, but I haven’t found anything. No one’s talking.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “How many people aren’t talking?” Translation: how many people have you killed to try and get information out of?

“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” A lie. Alya suspected, it, but she didn’t know it. She gave a skeptical look. “That’s not important.” Her voice was garbled with something other than the voice modulator. “They likely have many operations running around the city, and they absorbed the displaced workers into their ranks when one facility was destroyed.” She sighed. “They aren’t ramping down. There’s still a lot of activity on the streets. The same amount of talk, same amount of drugs. But I can’t trace them back anywhere.” 

“Are you just saying that for my sake?” Alya knew this girl knew more than she let on. This girl knew Alya knew more than she let on. If they were to actually work together, they might actually get somewhere. But neither wanted to share their information freely. 

Marinette was trying as hard as she could to keep Alya out of the whole thing, but she was persistent. She had to pick and choose her words incredibly carefully, or she would latch onto a clue like a pit bull and shake it until she got something out of it. There was a lot of hard bargaining to get where they got. 

The first time Ladybug knocked on Alya’s door, the latter had a baseball bat readied above her head, ready to swing. Her stance was shaky, and Marinette could see about five ways to take her down, but she didn’t. She held her hands up and walked slowly into the room. 

“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Bullshit!” She lowered the bat and pointed it at Ladybug’s chest, the entire thing trembling. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Marinette explained, her voice as calm as possible behind the modulator. “And I want to help.”

Alya glanced to her phone on the table behind her. “I should call the police.”

“Probably,” she chuckled. “But you know that I’m not going to hurt you.”

A long conversation resulted in Alya lowering the bat, but insisting that Ladybug stand in the corner. 

“I have a proposition,” Ladybug offered. 

“What could you possibly have that I would be interested in? Why should I trust you?” 

“You have no reason to trust me. But I have no reason to hurt you, and every reason to make sure that you’re not going to get hurt. I’ve been trying to protect the city from people who mean to do it and the people in it harm. That includes you.”

“Wait, so you think killing people is helping?” Alya sat and shook on her couch. She clenched a pillow to her chest like it would protect her.

“You may not understand it, but I’m doing what’s best. These people…” she sighed. “Alya, they are not good people.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re obviously a reporter. It didn’t take me long to find the magazine you work for and call to find out where you lived. I said I had something I wanted to mail to you. Your secretary is not the smartest person.”

“Fucking Brittany,” Alya cursed under her breath. 

“That’s beside the point. I’m protecting the city from bad people. I’m protecting you, too. I saved your life, if you recall.”

“Yeah, by murdering some dudes.”

“Who were going to kill you. Who were overseeing a major drug operation. Who were basically enslaving their workers to manufacture, package, and ship drugs across Paris. You’re telling me that they’re innocent? That they deserve to be walking the streets?”

“You didn’t have to kill them!”

“Maybe not. But I did. It’s over. It can’t be undone.” They stared each other down for a long moment. “It’s better this way. Now they can’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, now it’s up to you.” Alya stood. “Do you really think that you’re going to make a difference? You’ve killed what, ten people? A bouncer at a bar, a corrupt cop, and you think you’re making a difference?”

“And Gabriel Agreste.” 

“What.” 

“Agreste. I killed him.”

“You…” It took a while for everything to fall into place in Alya’s mind. It didn’t take too much. She was a smart person, and she had it mostly figured out. She had just forgotten the major points. Ladybug wasn’t going to stop by just killing the little guys, pawns who had little say in the operation of the business. 

She was going for the kingpins. There was someone behind the scenes playing a game that nobody could see, but that affected everyone, and she was going to stop them. 

“Of course you did.” Alya lowered back into her seat with a sigh. “Fuck.”

“Do you see now?”

That was weeks ago. They’d come so far.

“Yes.” Alya chuckled bitterly into her keyboard as she typed. “Hey,” Ladybug snapped. “I’m doing this whole thing for you, so don’t get snippy. If you knew everything, and you published the things that you knew, you’d be killed. No question.”

“I know, I know. I’m in danger because of the things I know, or whatever.” They had had this conversation before. Ladybug said she was protecting the city, and the people in it. She was rooting out the bad to help the good. Like ladybugs eating aphids. That was her rationale, anyway. Alya saw it a different way. “But it’s not like they know who has that information.”

Before Alya knew what was happening, Ladybug was at the table, leaning close, her voice low. “There were cameras in that warehouse. They know your face. They know who you are. If you make one more wrong move…” 

She let the words trail off, the insinuation rising in the air. They both knew that Ladybug was the only reason she was still standing, and not buried in a ditch somewhere or dumped in the Seine. 

“I can protect myself.” Her voice cracked in spite of herself. 

“Can you?” 

She quickly changed the subject. “You can’t do the whole thing on your own. You have information, and you have the ability to beat the shit out of people. But none of that means anything if no one knows about it. If you actually let me publish some of this information, then we could get the police-“

“No.”

“-and they would start an investigation, and they could do more than just the two of us. They have more resources than we do!”

“There’s a reason the police haven’t been investigating this. You think they don't know that there’s drugs and gangs running rampant on the streets? The police are in the pockets of some big players. They’re not doing anything about this. The structure has to be taken down, and they aren’t the ones to do it.”

“Oh, and you are?”

“As far as I’ve seen, I’m the only one doing anything.”

“I’m doing something.” 

“And it could get you killed.”

“So, what, you’re impervious to bullets now?” 

“No, I-“

“I’m just as invested as you. Don’t think you’re the only one who cares about this city.”

”That’s not-! If they know who you are, you will die. End stop. There’s a reason I wear a mask. There’s a reason you don’t know who I am, and that I come to you in the middle of the night so no one knows I’m here. If anyone knew about this, we’d both be killed. They’d storm your apartment and shoot us both. They’d come to you at work, or threaten your family, or kill you outright.” She lowered her voice. “There’s a lot at stake. You know there is. It has to be _kept quiet_.”

They stared each other down for a while, before Alya relented. Ladybug took up residence back in her corner of the room. “Fine, whatever. Do you have any information for me, or are you just here to lecture me?”

Ladybug crossed her arms. 

“Are you finally gonna tell me how Gabriel Agreste ties into all this?” Something shifted in her. Something softened. 

“I can’t. Not now. Not until I have something more concrete.”

“So you just killed him for no reason?” 

Alya had always been a smart person. She knew who she was dealing with. What was the likelihood that there were two people running around, trying to dismantle the drug ring that hid in the shadows of Paris? Alya knew intimately well that Ladybug had been killing, and for whatever reason, she was still there with her. 

It took everything in her power to get Alya to trust her. Saving her life was a big stepping stone in their relationship, but it came with killing others. There was not a lot of trust in a relationship based on death. 

But Alya was still working with her, so she must not be too scared of the outcome. Whatever happened, Alya knew that Ladybug was trying to do what was best for the city. They both were. There was some sort of reluctant trust there. 

However it worked out, and whatever went through Alya’s mind, Ladybug was not the person to be feared. She wasn’t a terrorist who had been killing randomly around the city, she was strategically putting a stop to the virus that had been spread. 

“I can’t tell you that. Not until I’m sure.” 

Alya forced herself to nod. She had ranted to both Ladybug and Marinette about how she suspected the Agreste corporation of being into nefarious activities. Alya thought that they could be the distribution center, spreading their wares across France. She was mostly right. 

Honestly, the information that Alya had gathered was staggeringly accurate. Some of it, even Marinette hadn’t figured out. It helped her to have the relationship with a reporter, someone who was just as serious as her about uncovering the truth. 

“Fine.” Alya closed her laptop and walked to the balcony door where Ladybug has entered. “Thanks for talking with me.” 

Ladybug slinked over to the door, ready to leave. Tension hung in the air. 

“I just want to let you know,” she said, stopping in the doorway. “You’re making a difference. It may not feel like it but… you’re helping.” She took another step before rethinking, and wading back in. “So thank you.” 

And like that, she was gone. 

…… 

Marinette set out the pastries on the counter at work mindlessly. She felt her exhaustion in her bones; they creaked as she moves. She had already had a large mug of coffee, and had a handful of aspirin for breakfast. 

The night before, she had discovered the hard way why it was important to watch your back. She hadn’t noticed the guard hiding out in the shadows behind her until he was on her, tackling her to the ground and getting in a few good punches before she was able to round on him. 

She had been staking out the warehouse again. There had been activity nearby that piqued her interest, and she spent the entire night watching and waiting. Someone came in the dead of the night and entered the warehouse. Several minutes later, they exited with a box, put it in their car, and drove away. She was able to keep up with it by cutting corners, lucky that it was going slow over speed bumps. 

The car stopped at another set of warehouses several miles away. Marinette thought she had lost them several times, until she climbed a roof and saw the taillights a block away. She was out of breath when she arrived at the new place, and she watched them take the box out of the car. 

The guy holding it balanced it carefully, like if it shifted slightly it would break. He put it in the new warehouse while another guy waited in the car. Marinette waited for them to drive away before making her way to the roof of the warehouse, then propelling down to look in one of the high windows. 

She found another operation. The factory lines were manned by dirty and tired looking people, those who had no other choice. There were more guards with large knives and guns patrolling than there had been in the last place. The security had been ramped up since the last attack. 

It made sense. They didn’t want a repeat of that ass kicking. 

She marked down the address on her phone and began to make her way out of the lot when she was attacked. 

When he was unconscious, she had to make the decision whether to keep him alive or not. If someone found him, or he told someone that he had seen her, they would move again. She couldn't risk not having an eye on the operation. 

It was a hard decision to beat him and dump him in the Seine. But there was no other choice. He had to be gone, so he wouldn't tell his higher ups to move again. There was also a spiteful punch or two added in as payment to him for getting the jump on her. 

She had covered up the bruises as best she could the following morning, but she felt them with every step. She was just lucky that she only got a light scrape on her face, where she wasn’t able to cover it completely. 

Nobody had asked questions in the office, and she was beyond grateful. She didn’t want to make a fuss about it. 

The silence that overcame the kitchen announced the arrival of Adrien, who was coming in for his morning coffee. Whenever he entered a room in the office, everyone went quiet. They watched him, still and scared, like any noise they made would be the final thing to break him. 

He strode across the room and grabbed a mug from the cabinet, then over to Marinette and her pastries. He poured himself a mug of coffee and drank it, scalding hot and black, from the mug, then grabbed a croissant from the tray. With a nod to Marinette, he began to walk away. 

As he began to exit the kitchen, she came back to herself, clearing the bearings from her brain that always seemed to accompany his presence. 

“Wait, Adrien!” She grabbed her purse and ran after him. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. She shuffled in her purse and grabbed the tin that her mother had given her this morning. When she stopped herself, she found herself a little too close, and took a step back. He closed the distance again, a flush finding his cheeks. It was the first time she’d seen color in his face since his father died. “My mom wanted you to have this. Again.” 

He chuckled brightly. The tin rattled with fresh macaroons and cookies as he grabbed it. “Thank her for me,” he said, only loud enough for her to hear. 

Their closeness found its way into her mind, and she realized that she should step away. She backed up again, but felt him lean in with her. They both felt red in their cheeks when they acknowledged what had just happened. 

Adrien backed off first, coming to himself. “Thanks, Marinette.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't post anything for like a month and then I come back with a new story, a new AU, and don't even post on a Saturday. I kind of feel like Beyoncé. But like... an asshole. 
> 
> Sorry? Not really.
> 
> Come bother me at rescue-satellite.tumblr.com


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